


Howl

by chrilia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2017-12-26 18:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrilia/pseuds/chrilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd never felt like less of a Stark when a sixth direwolf was never found.<br/>He'd never felt like more of a monster when he became the sixth direwolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Werewolf!Jon AU (or: Things Get Weird When The Blood of Old Valyria and The First Men Mix)
> 
> Hello! This is my first time writing a fic for this pairing, which is now completely consuming my life. (I blame just_a_dram for all of it)
> 
> Tags will be updated as I go! (o uo)/

It was cold the day they rode out into the wolfswood.

No colder than usual, because Winter is always coming in the North, but cold enough for Jon to pull his furs tighter around himself when he urged his horse to match the fast pace of Robb's. It chilled down his spine when Robb pulled pup after pup from under the corpse's mass, and froze his veins when Theon made some jape at his expense.

"It's fitting, isn't it? No wolf, only snow for a Snow!"  
Theon flung a loosely packed snowball at Jon's chest, but the ice that hit his face felt ike fire compared to the one that settled into his bones.

At least Robb was able to notice his half-brother's sudden silence. Jon was quiet, always had been, but this wasn't like the polite silence he kept when Lady Stark was in the room. He was staring down at the direwolf carcass, looking more solemn than anyone could ever be when holding two wriggling pups in his arms.

Robb plucked one of them up and set it into Bran's eager embrace.

"We should head back," he said, with the lord's voice he'd recently begun to practice.  
He carefully mounted his horse (but not before he smacked the back of Theon's head), determined to not crush the the smoke-grey wolf he cradled against him.

Jon followed his example, not bothering to look up from the yellow eyes of the wolf—the smallest of the litter—he had in one arm. She did not fight his grasp, as the black pup that Theon carried did, when he pressed his legs into the side of his horse and sped ahead of the others. She nuzzled against his chest as his steed galloped, pressing her warmth into where he needed it most after being reminded, again, that he was not a Stark and never would be.

* * *

 

Arya was right at his side by the time he'd dismounted and handed the reigns to a stableboy. Their Lord father wasn't far behind them, and the wolf he held out to his youngest daughter drew her away from Jon before she could ask if the one he was holding was his. He could've said yes, could've claimed that she was his and that he really did have a place among the Starks, but anyone could tell that the gentle little pup was meant for the eldest Stark daughter.

Sansa stood a polite distance away—for everything about her was polite—but she moved closer than she ever had before to him when Jon set the wolf into her arms.

"Oh," she sighed in wonder, "Thank you, Jon. She's beautiful."

Sansa looked up from the newly-named Lady and flashed him a smile, the first genuine smile he put on her face. Jon stared at his boots in silence and clenched his fists, willing himself to fight the urge to snatch the wolf out of her arms, to take back the warmth that was already seeping out of him. Lady leaned out of Sansa's embrace to lick his hand, and the wetness against his skin after she pulled away left him the coldest he had ever been.


	2. Chapter 2

Jon couldn't sleep that night, not when he knew that every child but him in the castle slept against warm, living proof that they belonged.

He twisted in his sheets for what must've been the thousandth time before sitting upright, climbing out of bed, wraping a fur cloak around himself and bending to jam his feet into a pair of boots. Jon didn't bother to change out of his thin linen nightshirt—not when everything felt so unbearably hot and the cloak alone felt stifling enough already.

It wasn't until he was walking through Winterfell's cold, iron gates that he realized where he was going. The wolfswood. It was a dark night, as nights in the North always were, but the full moon above him lit up enough for him to decide against returning to the castle to find a lantern. As Jon mounted his horse, he hoped it would stay bright enough for him to find what he was looking for.

When the direwolf corpse appeared in the distance, a black blotch against a field of white, Jon dismounted and went the rest of the way on foot. He thought a ride in the cold night air would relieve the fever, but each step away from Winterfell only made him burn hotter. Wrenching off his sweat drenched cloak, he stumbled on a hidden rock and fell in the snow, trying to catch the breath he didn't realize he'd lost. The corpse was so close to his face he could almost see the frost building on its matted fur, could almost smell frozen blood in the air. There was no movement in the night save for the fast fogs of his own breath, though he vaguely registers the sound of an owl hooting in the distance.All he can think about is the smell of the blood, how tight his chest is, how hot, how cold he feels, how bright—gods, _bright_ — the moon is, as if it were the moonlight that was burning and freezing him at the same time—

Sharp, burning pain swept over him, tore at him, as if his skin suddenly became much too small. Jon raised his head to scream, to do anything to respond to the pain aside from just laying there, but no sound would rip through his throat. He tried to stand, to hide ( _from what?_ ), but fell to his knees and tried to knock off the ice, the fire from his skin until the world before him faded.

* * *

 

_They all came that night, all five of them. They weren't scared, not even when he bared his teeth and showed how he was almost 5 times larger. The black one nipped and batted his white tail while the girls watched with glowing yellow eyes. One of the grey ones bounded off and returned with a rabbit, stinking of iron and dark red around the mouth. He took a leg between his teeth and jerked his neck, almost bringing the grey wolf off the ground, until the flesh tore and he could gnaw at the stringy meat. It was tough and barely more than a morsel, but its blood was so warm it steamed in the cold air and burned when it trickled down his throat. The heat was gone too soon. He needed more._

* * *

 

Jon awoke in the snow, limbs sore and heavy. Something rough and wet was rubbing against his face, his chest, and he opened his eyes to see the little pup he'd given his half-sister just the other day. He raised a hand towards her and she licked thickened blood off of that as well. Fresh snowfall blanketed the ground, but there was none gathered on his body. Pure, untouched white was interrupted by a dark bloody mess just a few paces away from where he lay, he noticed when he stood on unsteady feet. Lady nudged his hand and trotted off, turning around to see if he'd follow. It was dark still, but the sun would soon rise and it'd be harder to explain his half-naked and bloody state once it became light enough to see.

His horse had found its way back to Winterfell, Jon gathered. His blood'd ran cold when he first realized it was gone and registered the taste of blood in his mouth. The memories of the hours before felt muffled and unreal, as if they were recollections from years and years ago. Whatever happened, he would ignore it, forget it, pretend as if it never happened until he could convince himself it was all a dream. Lady brought one of the small rabbit bones from the bloody snow with her, and would sit and bite at it whenever she stopped to wait for Jon to catch up. Each time she did, Jon hastened his pace and focused on trudging his boots through the snow. Try as he might to ignore her, the thought of soft, fatty marrow had his mouth salivating.

* * *

A soft breeze rustled the leaves overhead when Jon reached the hot springs and yanked off his torn and bloody nightshirt. He couldn't find his fur cloak on his way back, but he didn't need it either. The walk was neither long nor arduous, but he felt so warm he'd considered dipping into the cold pool of water in front of the heart tree. The thought of finding his father there made him quickly reconsider, and so he decided on coming to the hot springs to scrub the dried blood from his hair and skin before returning to the keep. After shedding the rest of his clothing and leaving them in a crumpled heap on the ground, Jon slipped into the water with a soft splash. He would've floated on his back, for he felt so tired, but Lady Stark had never given him the same swimming lessons she did her own children. Instead, Jon took a breath and pushed his entire body under the surface, throwing himself into the darkness behind his tightly shut eyes and the silence underwater.

_His heart beat in his chest like a drum, the wind stung his eyes and pushed against him, but he couldn't stop. Not when he was so close, not when he finally pounced, not when he sunk his fangs into fur and flesh and the thing in his mouth lost life and warmth in slow pulses—_

Jon burst through the water with a gasp. How long had he been underwater? He pushed his wet hair back and rubbed at his eyes, clutching to the edge of the pool with his other hand and trying to ignore how frigid the air felt against his wet skin. His shoulders heaved as he took breaths in great pants, and his hands shook when he tried to scrub at his skin _._

* * *

The signs were all there, he'd realize later; Stark stubbornness meant he'd refuse to acknowledge them for now.

On that first day, dried brown blood clung under his fingernails (which seemed to be darker, harder, sharper now) and a metallic tang lingered in his mouth. He'd wake the next day to the smell of baking bread wafting into his room, though the kitchens were clear across the castle. At the great feast to welcome the King's arrival to Winterfell, he found himself spearing the bloodiest shank of beef on the platter and tearing into it with his teeth without use of his knife.

Shaggydog took a fierce liking to him, and would wind like a cat through Jon's legs as he walked, trying to trip him. Grey Wind trotted alongside him as often as he did to Robb, and Nymeria often bowed and took off in the other direction to invite a chase. Even the unnamed wolf who never left Bran's side would perk his ears whenever he saw Jon. Lady, sweet, quiet Lady who never stole scraps from the table or nipped at anyone's ankles the way her siblings did, would seek him out whenever Sansa was having a lesson and lick at his hands, begging to be petted. Once or twice she'd even dropped a bone by his feet after a feast.

If the other Stark children ever noticed how well their wolves got along with their bastard brother, they never mentioned it, never questioned it. Jon was thankful for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go: werewolf!AU's actual werewolf chapter! Party's just gettin' started.
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa never felt like she asked for too much. A gallant husband and a love worth singing about seem like just the thing a proper lady deserves, and so she groomed herself to be the best there ever was. Even Lady, polite and always perfect, seemed to be a testament to just how great of a lady she was destined to become. With the King's arrival in Winterfell—and the announcement of her betrothal to that beautiful, golden haired prince—Sansa could swear to the Seven that her song has begun. 

But when Lady began to regularly wander away from the solar when Sansa took her lessons, a heavy feeling settled into her chest. It sank even deeper when one night, only a week before she was to travel South with her father, Lady woke her in the dead of night with one of her fur cloaks between her teeth.

 She slipped on the cloak and her slippers without question, Sansa even followed Lady out of the keep and dodged a few guards patrolling the courtyard in silence, but when Lady led her to the snowy edge of the Godswood, turning her head to see if she had followed, Sansa hesitated. The future queen of Westeros shouldn't be sneaking out in the dead of night to trudge through the grove, but something about how the full moon's light glinted off of Lady's eyes told her that whatever it is that's in the Godswood, it is important. 

 

* * *

 

Lady led her to the heart tree and stopped, staring at something at the base of it. As far as Sansa could tell, it wasn't a mound of snow.  

She wet her lips. "Lady, to me." 

Lady always listened, always did what she was told, and surely she would listen to Sansa and get away from whatever that white clump was.

 

But her wolf only met her gaze for a moment before stepping forward to nudge the mass with her snout. Sansa called for her again, and cautiously eased forward when Lady ignored her once more.  

She could hear the figure's shallow breaths and make out thick white fur in the moonlight, and thought of Old Nan's stories of great, bloodthirsty monsters that came out only on the brightest of nights. She hesitated for a moment, but remembered that a brave knight aways rescues the maiden and slays the beast, and decided to get closer. 

"So this is where've you always been running off to," She mutters while rubbing her wolf's ruff, though Lady does not seem to hear her.  

"Is this your friend? Or…" 

 

Sansa bit her lip as Lady nudged the creature again, this time managing to turn it onto it's side. He was a wolf, much larger than Lady—or even Grey Wind, who had a habit of stealing whole cuts of meat from Robb's plate— and his eyes were red as blood. 

_Red as the weirwood leaves above, and as white as the bark too._

 

His breath puffed out in pale clouds as he tried to stand up properly, at Lady's urging. On his feet, he reached her hips and towered over Lady. Sansa slowly reached out a hand for him to smell, the way her father had showed her years ago when she went to the kennels for the first time. 

"Is this your brother?" she asked when the white wolf took a hesitant step forward and allowed her to run the tips of her fingers through his thick fur. Lady sat with ears perked, as if waiting for the other wolf to respond for himself. 

 

"I have another brother too," Sansa said quietly. "They didn't find a wolf for him, and it didn't seem right." She chuckled softly. "He brooded for days."

She scratched him behind the ears, smiling when he tilted his head to nuzzle into her touch. 

"You're his wolf, aren't you? I'm sorry they didn't bring you too. Your fur is so white, they probably just didn't see you in the snow." 

But they had found the pups on the road outside of Winterfell. How did this wolf find his way into their Godswood? The ground under them was frozen, so she sank down to pet him without the worry of getting mud on her skirts. 

 

"You'll need a name," she whispered.

Sansa loved to spin names for things. Romantic names straight from songs were her favorite, and she'd turned her nose up at Robb's dramatic _Grey Wind_ and Rickon's _Shaggydog_ (what was he thinking?) _._ At least _Nymeria_ sounded pretty.

No, she thought. She'll take it upon herself to give her half-brother's wolf a good name.

 

"Let's see… Weirwood?"

He rocked his head back and forth against her hand. Florian and Jonquil were met with similar reactions.

"Snow?"

Now the wolf shook his head fiercely, as if he knew as well as she did that it was a silly name. 

"It was only a suggestion! And you _are_ as white as…" she bit her lip. Is this a name boys like?

"How about Ghost?"

The wolf slowly sat and rested his heavy head in her lap, licking gently at her fingers. Ghost it is, then. 

 

They sat in silence for a moment. The weight of him against her was so much warmer than the cloak around her shoulders that she feared she, _Sansa Stark_ , future queen of Westeros, might fall asleep out here in the woods if she didn't do anything. 

"His name is Jon Snow, my brother. Well, half-brother." _But he's enough of a Stark to have a wolf_.

"And he's really quiet, just like you."

The wolf closed his eyes. 

"Jon'll like you, I'm sure of it. You can come back to Winterfell with me and play with your brothers and sisters again," she mumbled, fingering strands of thick white fur.

He shook his head, a movement Sansa thought ought to've accompanied a whine but came with only a puff of air, and stood to step away from her.  

"Why not?" her voice was high and drawn out, the way it would get before she started crying. She had wished, she had _prayed_ that her family could be perfect, and it seemed so cruel that they were already so close. Jon's presence was the only fault, a quiet one who tried to disappear from where he didn't belong, but a wolf would fix that. He'd be just like the rest of them, even her lady mother wouldn't be able to protest to that. Sansa's family could be whole and perfect and she'd become a queen and the rest of her life would become a beautiful song.  

But this wolf, Jon's wolf, _Ghost_ , continued to back away into the forest and out of her life, taking the promise of perfection with him despite her small, outreached hands beckoning him to stay. 

 

How could Jon's wolf be so selfish when he was the most considerate person she could think of?

 

* * *

 

Gods, he's sore. 

 

Running around the Godswood all night has that effect on him, and though it was nearly a week since the last full moon, he really should be used to it by now.

Not that Jon would ever admit to that, even if it _has_ been moons and moons since that first night outside the castle, and he _has_  been spending every morning searching for any trace of red or white in his reflection.  

No, Jon would never admit to it. It didn't take experience to know that _monster_ would cut even deeper than _bastard._  

 

(But _Ghost_ isn't too bad of a name)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand here's a Sansa chapter!  
> There'll be a bit of a timeskip in the next one, so things should start speeding up soon.
> 
> Thanks a bunch for reading! :')


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the response! :) It's very appreciated. Here's a pretty short chapter, but things will start getting good soon. The next chapter will (hopefully) be ready sometime January!

Winterfell isn't often lively, as few visitors of great import ever came this so North. Starks rarely traveled South either, so the arrival of the king and subsequent departure of their lord and his daughters meant everyone moved with more vigor and urgency.

Less celebrated, however, was the departure of Jon Snow, who'd quite suddenly declared that he would be taking the black and heading North the very day the royal party would head South. He gathered his warmest, darkest furs while the girls packed their own trunks across the hall. He'd already given Needle to Arya, and paused for a heavy moment with his hand on the handle of Sansa's door.

What would he have said if she'd noticed him outside her chamber? Or worse, if Lady Stark passed by at that moment to see her husband's bastard son trying to speak to her prized, beautiful daughter?

Maybe he would've properly thanked her for the name and let the entire truth come tumbling out in the process, or demand how she knew he would be there in the snow, how someone always seems to know something he doesn't. Instead he stood dumbly outside her door, the cold metal of the handle pressing into his hand and her muffled singing drifting through the walls, before slinking away, the words dead on his tongue.

* * *

Then Bran fell, and Jon wanted both to stay in Winterfell and to ride North, away from his broken brother and the howling wolves. The royal party could delay no longer, not even for the poor Stark son, and made their final preparations.

Lord Stark, with dark rings circling his eyes, stood amongst the busying servants and squires, adjusting the saddle on his horse. "Jon," he called out. "Father," Jon replied, noticing the weariness that crossed the lord's face when he did.

"Will you come pray with me in the Godswood?" Jon met his father's eyes after a pause.

"For Bran. I'd like to tell you about your mother, as well," Ned added, quietly.

"Of course, my lord."

* * *

Their boots crunched through the snow, and each step drew the pair closer to the tree where Sansa had found him. When they reached the foot of it, Lord Stark didn't meet his eyes, only gazed at the pile of torn, bloodstained clothes amongst fallen leaves.

"That's strange," Jon's voice felt rough and clumsy, as if he hadn't spoken for a hundred years. Eddard looked at him, and did so as if for the first time. The indescribable emotion (Remorse? Sorrow? Fear? It was all of these and none) that painted his face only tightened the knot in Jon's stomach. Eddard let out a long sigh and cast his eyes down in silence, searching for the words.

"Your father was--"

That wasn't what Jon was expecting. "You are my father."

"Your sire, then," Ned said, then softened. "was Rhaegar Targaryen. Jon, your mother was my sister, Lyanna."

Jon clenched his fists. "Father," he said, breathless.

 "It was to keep you safe, lad." he finally looked at Jon. "I had to keep you safe. From the Lannisters, from Robert," he shook his head and gestured at the bloody clothes with his arm. "From whatever hunter..."

"Father!" Jon's pulse thundered in his ears and his arms felt numb at his sides, but then let out a short, disbelieving laugh that sounded more like a bark. "Father, I... I don't  know what you're talking about. Are you feeling alright? It must be the grief that has you saying such things"

Eddard moved to hold Jon's face in his hands, forcing him to look in his eyes. Stark grey, they were, uncle and nephew. :"Jon, lad," he began.

"Don't you see? The Valyrians and the First Men..." The pad of his thumb moved to wipe away a tear that escaped Jon's eyes.

"There's old blood in you, child. Old blood and old magic." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part was a little rushed since I had some trouble figuring it out. It'll stray away from canon (even more than it has already!) with a few time-jumps along the way.  
> Hope you like it so far and stick around for the (crazy!) ride. :)


End file.
